24. Delilah #2
I swallow. My mouth is suddenly dry, all my moisture rushing south. "That's a lot of times."
"Good." He starts the engine. "I have three days to make up for."
The drive to his house takes twelve minutes. I spend all of them with my hand on his thigh, fingers tracing higher every time we stop at a light.
"You're not making this easy," he says.
"I don't want to make it easy."
"I can tell."
"I missed you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I move my hand higher. "I tried not to. I tried to stay angry and prove I didn't need you and convince myself I was better off sleeping alone."
"And?"
"And I couldn't even jack off without thinking about you."
His breath punches out of him. "You were touching yourself?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Just now."
He makes a rough sound low in his throat. "Tell me what you were thinking about."
"You. Bending me over the worktable at the bakery."
"That's what you think about when you touch yourself?"
"Sometimes. Other times it's you in the shower. Or on your knees in your office. Or—"
"Lilah."
"What?"
"If you keep talking, I'm pulling over."
"Would that be so bad?"
"Yes. Because I'm not fucking you in the car when I have a bed ten minutes away."
"Five minutes now."
"Five minutes," he agrees.
I move my hand higher, palming him through his jeans. He's hard and thick and I want him so badly I can barely think straight.
"Lilah," he warns.
"What?"
"You're playing with fire."
He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. Then he's out of the car and around to my door before I can unbuckle, pulling me out and backing me against the side of the car.
"Inside," I say against his mouth.
"Yeah."
But he kisses me anyway, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. I arch against him, feeling how much he wants me, and bite his jaw.
"Upstairs," he says roughly. "Now."
We make it through the front door. Past Anton's desk. Up the stairs.
He has me against the wall outside his bedroom, my legs wrapped around his waist, before I can even catch my breath.
"Bed," I gasp.
He carries me inside and kicks the door shut behind us.
I'm already pulling at his shirt when he sets me down. He yanks it over his head and reaches for mine, dragging it off and tossing it aside. My bra follows. Then he's walking me backward toward the bed, his mouth on my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my breast.
"Kane—I need—"
"I know." His hands go to the button of my jeans. "I know. Let me give it to you, sladkaya."
He strips me efficiently, dropping to his knees to pull off my jeans and underwear, then stays there, his hands on my thighs.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Admiring the view."
I blush furiously. "You've seen me naked before."
"I know. I'm still admiring it."
He leans in and presses a kiss to my hip. Then higher. Then—
"Oh," I moan.
He looks up at me, his mouth curved in a smirk. "Still in a hurry?"
"Yes. But don't stop."
He licks into my pussy, hot and slow. A surge of pleasure steals my breath away. I have to grab his shoulder to stay upright.
He moves one hand up to grip my hip, the other between my legs, and works me with a patience that makes me want to scream.
"Kane—I need—"
"Patience, sladkaya."
He adds a finger, then another, curling them just right.
I come so hard I forget how to breathe.
He stays on his knees, working me through it, until I'm shaking and pulling at his hair.
"Inside," I manage. "Need you inside me now."
He stands and lifts me, laying me down and following me onto the mattress. He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his mouth. It's musky and heady and I never want it to stop.
I reach between us and palm him through his jeans. He's so hard it must hurt.
"Off," I say.
"Bossy." But he still stands and strips.
I watch hungrily. He's beautiful—all muscle and ink and sharp green eyes fixed on me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
"Come here," I say.
He does, settling between my legs, bracing himself on his forearms above me.
"Condom?" I ask.
"Nightstand."
I lean over and grab one, tearing it open and rolling it onto him. He watches me do it, his jaw tight.
"Okay?" I ask.
"Yeah."
I pull him down and kiss him hard. "Then fuck me."
He pushes into me slowly, watching my face the whole time.
"Okay?" he asks.
"Yes. More."
He gives me more. Deeper. Harder. Until I'm arching off the bed and digging my nails into his shoulders.
"Like this?" he asks.
"Yes. God, yes."
He sets a rhythm that's just right—not too slow, not too fast—and leans down to kiss me while he moves. I wrap my legs around his waist and meet him thrust for thrust, and it's so good I can't think about anything except the way he feels inside me.
"Lilah," he says roughly.
"Kane." Pleasure coils tight in my core. I'm so close. "Please—"
"Let go. Come for me."
I do. Hard and fast and so intense I see stars. He follows a moment later, groaning my name into my neck.
We stay like that for a while, breathing hard, tangled together.
Eventually he rolls off me and ties off the condom, then pulls me against his side.
"Stay," he says.
"I was planning on it."
"Good."
I press my face into his shoulder. "I'm still angry about the trip."
"I know."
"But I missed this. Being here with you."
His arm tightens around me. "I missed it too."
We're quiet for a while. Then I say, "I was afraid coming back first would mean I lost the argument."
"You didn't lose anything."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." He kisses the top of my head. "Because I'd rather have you here disagreeing with me than spend another night being right alone."
"You really mean it?"
"Yes."
I study his face. He looks tired. Like the last three days cost him as much as they cost me.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I believe you."
He pulls me closer, tucking me against his chest, and I let him.
We fall asleep like that, tangled together in his bed, our hearts beating in sync.